Cook,Robin - Mortal Fear.txt
Page 12
who made Jason feel uncomfortable. He made sure all his doors were
locked.
Within a quarter hour of his arrival, a large group of people emerged
from the club and went their separate ways. About ten minutes later, a
group of dancers appeared. They chatted together in front of the club,
then split up. Carol was not among them. Just when Jason had begun to
worry that he'd missed her, Carol came out with one of the body builders.
He wore a leather jacket over his T-shirt, but it was not zipped up.
They turned right, heading up Washington Street toward Filene's.
Jason started his car, unsure of what to do. Luckily there was plenty of
traffic, both cars and pedestrian. To keep Carol in sight, he nudged out
into the street, staying to the side. A policeman saw him and waved him
on.
Carol and her friend turned left on Boylston Street, walked into an open
parking lot, and got into a large black Cadillac.
Well, at least he'll be easy to keep in sight, Jason thought. But, never
having followed anyone, he discovered. it wasn't as easy as he'd
imagined, especially if he didn't want to be observed. The Cadillac
-skirted the edge of the Common, went north on Charles Street, then made
a left on Beacon, passing the Hampshire House. Several blocks later, the
car pulled over to the left side of the street and doubleparked. This
was an area of town called Back Bay, composed of large,
turn-of-the-century brownstones, most of which had been converted into
rental units or condos. Jason passed the Cadillac as Carol alighted.
Slowing, he watched in the rearview mirror as she ran up the steps of a
building with a large bay window. Jason turned left on Exeter, then left
on Marlborough. After waiting about five minutes, he rounded the block.
Arriving back on Beacon Street, he looked for the black Cadillac. It was
gone.
Jason parked in front of a fire hydrant half a block from Carol's
building.
At three A. M. Back Bay was peaceful-no pedestrians and only an
occasional passing car. Turning into the walk leading to Carol's
building, Jason surveyed the six-story facade and saw no lights in anyof
the windows.
Entering the building's outer foyer, he scanned the names opposite the
buzzers. There were fourteen. To his disappointment there was no Donner
listed.
Stepping back outside, Jason debated what he should do. Remembering
there was an alley running between Beacon and Marlborough, he walked
around the block, counting the buildings until he located Carol's. There
was a light in the window on the fourth floor. He guessed that had to be
Carol's since it was unlikely anyone else would be up.
Intending to go back to the entrance and press the appropriate buzzer,
Jason turned and headed back up the alley. He saw the lone figure
immediately, but he kept walking, hoping the man would merely pass by.
As the distance between them closed, Jason's steps slowed, then stopped.
To his dismay he realized it was the body-builder. His leather
motorcycle jacket was unzipped, showing a white T-shirt stretched tight
across powerful muscles.
It was the same individual who had thrown him out of the Club Cabaret
the night before.
The man kept coming at Jason, his fingers flexing in apparent
anticipation.
Jason guessed him to be in his mid-twenties, with a full face that
suggested he took steroids. It obviously spelled trouble. And Jason's
hope that the man might not recognize him was banished as the goon
growled, "What the fuck you doing, creep?"
That was all Jason needed. He spun on his heels and started for the
other end of the alley. Unfortunately, his leather-soled loafers were no
competition for the body-builder's Nikes. "You goddamn pervert!" he
shouted, pulling Jason to a stop.
Jason ducked a roundhouse left hook and grabbed the goon's thigh, hoping
to trip him. Unfortunately, it was like grabbing a piano leg. Instead,
Jason was jerked upright. The unevenness of the match was already
apparent to Jason, who decided he'd prefer some kind of dialogue. "Why
don't you find someone your own size!" he yelled in exasperation.
iflelecause I don't like perverts," the body-builder said, practically
lifting Jason off his feet.
Twisting to one side, then the other, Jason wriggled out of his jacket
and shot off down the alley, knocking over a garbage can as he fled.
"I'll teach you not to come sniffing around Carol!"
the goon shouted, kicking aside the garbage can as he started off after
Jason. But Jason's years of jogging paid off. Although the body-builder
was quick despite his size, Jason could hear the man's breathing
becoming increasingly labored. Jason was almost at the end of the alley
when he skidded on loose pebbles, momentarily ' losing his balance. He
scrambled back to his feet just as a heavy hand grabbed his shoulder and
spun him around.
"Hold it! Police!" A voice shattered the stillness of the Boston night.
Jason froze and so did the bodybuilder. The doors of an unmarked police
car parked next to the mouth of the alley suddenly opened and three
plainclothesmen leaped out. Once again Jason was ordered, "Up against
the wall. Feet apart!" He obeyed, but the body-builder thought about it
for a moment. Finally he growled to Jason, "You're a lucky son of a
bitch." He then complied.
"Shut up!" a policeman yelled. Jason and his pursuer were quickly
searched, then turned around and told to put their hands behind their
heads. One cop took out a flashlight and checked their identification.
"Bruno Demarco?" questioned the man holding the light on the
body-builder.
Bruno nodded. The light switched to Jason.
"Dr. Jason Howard?"
"That's correct."
"What's going on here?" the policeman asked.
"This little creep was trying to bother my girlfriend," Bruno informed
him in an outraged voice. "He followed her."
The policeman looked back and forth between Jason and Bruno, then walked
over to the car, opened the door, and took something from the back seat.
When he returned, he handed Bruno his wallet and told him to go home and
get some sleep. At first Bruno acted as though he hadn't understood, but
then he took his wallet.
, "I'll remember you, asshole! " he shouted at Jason as he disappeared
toward Beacon Street.
"You," the policeman said, pointing to Jason. "In the car!"
Jason was stunned. He couldn't believe they let the bouncer go and not
him.
He was about to complain when the policeman grasped his arm and forced
him into the back seat.
"You are becoming one big pain in the ass," Detective Curran said. He
was sitting stolidly, smoking. "I should have let that hunk work you
over."
Jason was at a loss for words.
"I hope you have some idea," Curran continued, "of just how much you are
screwing up this case. First we have Hayes's apartment covered. You blew
that. Then we're watching Carol Donner and you blow that. We might as
> well bag the whole operation. We're certainly not going to learn
anything from her at this point. Where the hell is your car? I presume
you came in a car?"
"Just around the comer," Jason said meekly.
"I suggest you get in it and go home," Curran said slowly. "Then I
suggest you get back to doctoring and leave this investigation to us.
You're making our job impossible."
"I'm sorry," Jason began. 'Ididn't think..
"Just leave!" Curran said with a wave of dismissal.
Jason climbed out of the police car, feeling pretty dumb. Of course
they'd be watching Carol. If she had been living with Hayes, she was
probably involved with drugs too. In fact, with her line of work, it
was almost a given. Getting into his own car, Jason thought about his
jacket, said the hell with it, and drove home.
It was three-thirty when he trudged up the stairs to his apartment and
dutifully called his service. He hadn't taken his beeper with him when
he left to follow Carol Donner, and he hoped there had been no calls. He
was too tired to handle an emergency. There was nothing from the
hospital, but Shirley had left a message asking him to call the moment
he got in, no matter what time. The page operator told him it was
urgent.
Perplexed, Jason dialed. Shirley answered on the first ring. 'Where on
earth have you been?"
"That's a story in itself" "I want you to do me a favor. Come over right
now.
"It's three-thirty," Jason pleaded.
"I wouldn't ask if it weren't important."
Jason put on another jacket, returned to his car, and drove out to
Brookline, wondering what emergency couldn't have waited a little
longer.
The only certainty was that it involved Hayes.
Shirley lived on Lee Street, a road that curved around Brookline
Reservoir and wound its way up into a residential area of fine old
homes. Her house was a field stone building of comfortable proportions
with a gambrel roof and twin gables. As Jason entered the cobblestone
driveway, he saw that the house was ablaze with light. He pulled up
across from the entrance, and by the time he was out of the car, Shirley
had the door open.
"Thank you for coming," she said, giving him a hug. She was dressed in a
white cashmere sweater and faded jeans and seemed, for the first time
since Jason had met her, totally distraught.
She led him into a large living room and introduced him to two GHP
executives who also seemed visibly upset. Jason shook hands first with
Bob Walthrow, a small, balding man, and then Fred Ingelnook, a Robert
Redford lookalike.
"How about a cocktail?" Shirley asked. "You look like you need it."
"Just soda," Jason said. "I'm dead on my feet. What's going on?"
"More trouble. I got a call from security. Hayes's lab was broken into
tonight and practically demolished."
"Vandalism?"
"We're not sure."
"Hardly," Bob Walthrow said. "It was searched."
"Was anything taken?" Jason asked.
"We don't know yet," Shirley said. "But that's not the problem. We want
to keep this out of the papers. Good Health can't take much more bad
publicity. We have two large corporate clients on the fence about
joining the Plan. They might be scared off if they hear that the police
think Hayes's lab was searched for drugs."
"It's possible," Jason said. "The medical examiner told me Hayes had
cocaine in his urine."
"Shit," Bob Walthrow said. "Let's hope the newspapers don't get ahold of
this."
"We've got to limit the damage!" Shirley said.
"How do you propose to do that?" Jason asked, wondering why he'd been
called.
"The governing board wants us to keep this latest incident quiet."
"That might be difficult," Jason said, taking a sip of his soda. "The
papers will probably get it from the police blotter."
"That's exactly the point," Shirley said. "We've decided not to tell the
police. But we wanted your opinion."
"Mine?" Jason asked, surprised.
Well," Shirley said, "we want the opinion of the medical staff. You're a
current chief. We thought you could quietly find out how the others
felt."
441 suppose," said Jason, wondering how he'd go about polling the other
internists and still keep the episode undercover.
"But if you want my personal opinion, I don't think it's a good idea at
all.
Besides, you won't be able to collect insurance unless you inform the
police."
"That's a point," Fred Ingelnook said.
"True," Shirley said, "but it's still minor in relation to the "public
relations problem. For now we will not report it. But we'll check with
insurance and hear from the department chiefs."
"Sounds good to me," Fred Ingelnook said. "Fine," Bob Walthrow said.
The conversation wound down and Shirley sent the two executives home.
She held Jason back when he tried to follow, suggesting he meet her at
eight o'clock that morning. "I've asked Helene to come in early. Maybe
we can make some sense out of what's going on."
Jason nodded, still wondering why Shirley couldn't have told him all
this on the phone. But he was too tired to care, and after giving her a
brief kiss on the cheek, he staggered back out to his car, hoping for
two or three hours' sleep.
It was just after eight that Saturday morning when Jason, bleary-eyed,
entered Shirley's office. It was paneled in dark mahogany, with dark
green carpet and brass fixtures, and looked more like it belonged to a
banker than to the chief executive of a health care plan. Shirley was on
the phone talking to an insurance adjuster, so Jason sat and waited.
After she hung up she said, "You were right about the insurance. They
have no intention of paying a claim unless the break-in is reported."
"Then report it."
"First let's see how bad the damage is and what's missing."
They crossed into the outpatient building and took the elevator up to
the sixth floor. A security guard was waiting for them and unlocked the
inner door. They dispensed with the booties and white coat.
Like Hayes's apartment, the lab was a mess. All the drawers and cabinets
had been emptied onto the floor, but the high-tech equipment appeared
untouched, so it was obvious to both of them that it had been a search
and not a destructive visit. Jason glanced into Hayes's offic6. It was
equally littered, with the contents of the desk and several file
cabinets strewn about the floor.
Helene Brennquivist appeared in the doorway to the animal room, her face
white and drawn. Her hair was again severely pulled back from her face,
but without her usual shapeless lab coat, Jason could see she had an
attractive figure.
"Can you tell if anything is missing?" Shirley asked.
"Well, I don't see my data books," Helene said. "And some of the E. coli
bacterial cultures are gone. But the worst is what's happened to the
animals."
"What about them?" Jason asked, noting that her usually emotionless face
was trembling
with fear.
"Maybe you should look. They've all been killed!"
Jason stepped around Helene and through the steel door into the animal
area. He was immediately confronted with a pungent, zoolike stench. He
turned on the light. It was a larger room, some fifty feet long and
thirty feet wide. The animal cages were organized in rows and stacked
one on top of the other, sometimes as many as six high.
Jason started down the nearest row, glancing into individual cages.
Behind him the door closed with a decisive click. Helene had not been
exaggerating: all the animals that Jason saw were dead, hideously curled
in contorted positions, often with bloodied tongues as if they'd chewed
them in their final agony.
Suddenly Jason stopped short. Staring into a group of large cages, he
saw something that made his stomach turn: rats the likes of which he had
never seen. They were huge, almost the size of pigs, and their bald,
whiplike tails were as thick as Jason's wrists. Their exposed teeth were
four inches long. Moving along, Jason came to rabbits the same size, and
then white mice the size of small dogs.
This side of genetic engineering horrified Jason. Although he was afraid
of what he might see, morbid curiosity drove him on. Slowly, he looked